in a tunnel
of dark thought.
by the magic
woven by a child
at his own
My own smile
by his light.
Sober Truths — for Viola
Today I open darkness
each hour when I write
the divine wet poems
your virgin skin of me demands.
Soulmate of mine,
I present these sober truths
lit by candlelight
in the middle of our day
–the middle point of strength,
where most energy resides.
The sober truth of you, thirty-five
springs of roaming butterflies
mother of Matthew, saint
full of sin, hope of humanity
and of me. My past and future
lover, my friend.
As the mist descends
over a skyline of possibilities
not yet discerned, you stand in front,
soft and colorful, embracing life,
my second painting, my first love,
my angel in the early morning light.
Image Title: Portrait of a Young Woman. By: Oscar Rejlander (English 1813-1875) Date: ca. 1860 George Eastman House Collection
Walking Home. Almost Night.
Following my shadow, I walk away
from intermittent sunlight and faith
recounting events dismembered by time.
One by one coincidental cracks
appear on the icy shell where I hide–
swimming naked–in tall grass.
I follow the shadow, step by step,
retracing the route, outlined in ancient
times, into dark space and beyond.
Holding a dying old hand–
unrecognized–by the many selves
disconnecting me from the inside.
Chased by death, I don’t walk fast.
I like the smell of death at my back.
I look around. No one’s in sight. Alone
in darkness, I resist the urge to feel pity
tonight, on my behalf.
Turning a corner, loosing by chance
the dark outline I’ve walked besides,
a passing light illuminates my stride.
Lost ballon—colored blue—
searching for the infant hand it lost,
descends from heaven
upon the path tired soles walk
in the darkness of night.
A bell from a distant tower
dissolves into song,
after a clear moment
discovered between lines
of an ancient paragraph.
The voice of a lover
—abducted by old thoughts—
heard again for the first time,
naked words, dressed in white,
unchained, over water purified.
Simple gifts, ours for the asking,
by a philanthropic deity
unconcerned with the value
we affix to things.
WHEN YOU WAKE ME
When you wake me, you wake me up to myself.
The innocence of your smile
caresses my eyes
and a tranquil hush remains with my skin,
you shake me and passion comes alive
in a subterranean mansion my soul erects.
Your touch transforms me into a being of light. I enter
through each of your pores, illuminating
buried beneath the core of your life.
I become a river, then, a torrent of sweat
that irrigates the sliver of earth
where we harvest life by the armful and
we grow old together
watching our children laugh and play.
Image: time ©2010 .through my eyes./renee. All rights reserved. Please visit her Flickr Gallery.
A Fluttering Butterfly
A butterfly fluttered by
my window after the thoughts
of you that occupied my mind
came and went.
Lightness of beauty
coloring a gray morning
of autumn at the end of one more
century of relevance,
dread parading in front
of my overcast eyes,
heavy with the weight of the past
the mass of unresolved drama
around the midday mark –
surviving only joy, passion and
the spontaneous spark
that flames the grace in my heart.
And I watch as new possibility
takes flight, following
a fluttering butterfly
and into the brightening skies.
I Walk Away
I walk away,
breathing ancient thoughts
that condensate in midair, then disappear
into the frozen hands
of my winter night.
I walk away
unable to accept
any validity in the reasons
denying the calling of our flesh,
back turned to the intentions
dancing in the fire.
I walk away
our mutual commitment
to perpetuate a cloudy yesterday
and choose you blameless,
uninhibited and free.
I walk away,
of the fate awaiting
this inconclusive decade of loving,
imperfectly, but loving